Rosalind's Maternal Instincts

Rosalind bit her lower lip in dismay as she assessed the situation . Robert was sick. Just a minor upper respiratory tract infection. But the sudden maternal urge this brought out in her was enough to upset her whole day and cause her great confusion. Of course she had things to do, but just look at poor Robert. Resting in his bed with barely enough energy to eat the soup she had made for him. She had made soup for him! She scarcely did that for herself.

"Is it helping?" She said while retrieving the empty bowl with one hand and feeling Robert's forehead with the other. He was positively burning up.

"Yes, thank you dear sister." Robert croaked. "Who knew you could cook?" He said with a laugh turned coughing fit.

She stifled the retort that came to her, in favor of grabbing the handkerchief in her upper pocket with her free hand and dabbing at the bit of mucus leaking from Robert's nostril.

"I believe I can-"

"Manage? You can barely feed yourself." Rosalind replied over her shoulder as she began to leave the room "Now, I'll be right back."

Robert let out a heavy sigh at the sound of Rosalind's footsteps returning from the kitchen. There's no doubt she had his best intentions in mind. But this was a little out of hand. Next thing you know, she'd be re-

"Dear brother, I believe I've found just the thing to help you with your nap." She said, producing a copy of 'Robinson Crusoe' from behind her back.

Well, he did love that book as a child. And it stands to reason his sister would have a similar fondness for it. He appreciated the thought. Not that he particularly felt the need for a nap.

"Current predicament aside, I'm quite awake and intend to stay that way for the rest of the day." Robert protested.

"Then consider this a refresher course in English literature." Rosalind said with a smile.

Robert pouted slightly, knowing that smile meant he had no chance of convincing her out of this endeavor. Sliding a chair closer to the bed and dutifully pulling up Roberts covers, Rosalind began to read. "I was born in the year 1632, in the city of York, of a good family, though not of that country, my father being a foreigner of Bremen, who settled first at Hull. He got a good estate by merchandise, and leaving off his trade, lived afterwards at York, from whence he had married my mother, whose relations were named Robinson, a very good family in that country, and from whom I was called Robinson Kreutznaer; but, by the usual corruption of words in England, we are now called—nay we call ourselves and write our name—Crusoe; and so my companions always called me."

Sure enough, despite his initial protests, Robert began to fade in an out of consciousness by the time Rosalind had started the second chapter. Half way through chapter 3 Robert was out like a light, his mouth hanging open slightly. He was like a child, Rosalind thought to herself. Her own, even if for only a day. She set her book aside, readjusted his covers and then kissed him lightly on the forehead. Well, she still had a little time left to enjoy this feeling.